The Dove and the Haw

Many thanks to my advance readers, including Not_E and happyyy_, as well as to my editor LaRascasse.

Content warning

: depictions of religious sexual abuse, references to sexual assault

***

Litheian awoke to nervous giggles, rousing slowly. The sounds hushed as she turned over, wondering why the bed was so large and warm, and her body so tight and achy. Opening her eyes, she realized where she was, and the memory of the night prior made her cheeks burn.

In the corner of her eyes, she could see a trio of maidservants quietly cleaning and setting out a meal. Wanting them to leave, she gave a tired moan and rolled over into a fetal position. Let them think she was in pain after being used by him all night long. They gasped and murmured to themselves, quickening their pace, and soon left.

Sitting up, she stretched broadly. This was a different kind of soreness she felt, in her muscles and in her asshole. She savored the feeling, making for the bathing room without bothering to dress herself. The cold water was refreshing, and she patted herself dry and warm before donning her underdress and perusing the food.

She had finished eating and was lying on the bed again, spreading out her body in its comforting wideness, when she heard him coming up the stairs, slowly as ever. He always did this so she would know it was him and could hide away as she pleased. But she wouldn't hide today. She didn't need to; he was her husband.

As he opened the door she sat up to greet him. Her breath froze at his dark expression, but it lightened upon seeing her.

"What is the matter?" she asked, walking over to him.

He put his arms around her and hugged tightly. "I thought you were hurt," he murmured. "The maids were gossiping about you, and --"

He stopped as she giggled softly, pulling away and frowning. "Forgive me,

im-uvnyan

," she said, "I simply wanted them to leave, so I made it sound as though I were in pain."

"But are you,

im-uvnya

?" he asked, reaching out and caressing her face with worried eyes.

"I did not expect to be so tired and sore," she replied, and he sighed and held her once more.

"I should have been more gentle with you," he said, and she shook her head, mussing her hair on his chest.

"You only gave me what I wanted,

im-uvnyan

."

He sighed and kissed her forehead, and they stayed like that for a while.

Pulling away, he said, "I have something to give you,

im-uvnya

. It was my mother's first. My second brother gave it to his wife, and now I give it to you."

He pulled a small box from his jacket, opening it to reveal a delicate gold ring. She stared at the small, thin band, remembering how she had last donned jewelry that fateful morning years ago. She blinked back tears, not wanting to sully this gesture, but he put a hand to her shoulder.

"You need not accept it,

im-uvnya

. But I wished to give you a token of my promise to you."

She nodded, reaching out hesitantly. Hands trembling, she lifted it from the box and slid it onto her finger, where it sat snugly. "It fits," she noted simply, and he smiled.

"Here is a leather cord you can use too, if you need," he added, placing it in her palm.

She nodded absently, still staring at the ring. It was heavier than it seemed and engraved with tiny twining vines.

"What was your mother like?" she asked, suddenly wishing to meet the woman who had brought this ring with her from distant Sytheire.

"I do not remember much," he told her, "but my second brother used to tell me stories. She had a sharp gaze she would use when he was misbehaving." He chuckled at the memory. "And she was always singing," he added more softly, "that I do remember. Children's songs and lullabies. She would sing us younger ones to sleep, the both of us, before...."

She closed her fingers on the leather thong and put her arms around him, not needing him to finish. He returned the gesture, clutching her as the unspoken thought passed between them: she might share the same fate as his mother, as his sister-in-law.

He pulled away and she let go reluctantly as he composed himself. "I go to meet with my father now," he said. "I think the temple means to bring us both there a day early, so they may be here soon."

"Is there some way I should act?" she asked, worried she might do something wrong.

"Just be as you were first with me, only do as they tell you. It will be women from the goddess' temple, so you should be safe with them."

She nodded, seeing his worried brows, and tried to reassure him with a smile. "I understand."

He put his forehead to hers, catching her elbows in his hands and she did the same, feeling his pulse at her fingertips. She had seen her stepmother do this with her father, remembered being told it was a gesture of welcome and of farewell. She squeezed his elbows, breathing softly.

"Be well,

im-uvnyan

," she said.

"You also,

im-uvnya

," he replied, and pulled away reluctantly, and left her standing there alone.

She turned the ring under her fingers absentmindedly. She would have to hide it in her room for the time being. She pulled it off and slipped it on the leather cord, knotting the ends together and stashing it at the bottom of Adrialsa's chest, folded up in a square cloth. She put away the box of stone stools -- the

gelib

, he'd called them -- noting he had replaced the one from the night before after cleaning it. She blushed to think of him in her room but continued tidying, moving all but the lamp and jug of oil to the chest.

Litheian shut the door to her little room and sat on the great bed again, her time empty now that she had no more reading or writing to do. She should stay out of the library, she knew, and wait here in his chambers even if he were wrong, even if the temple weren't sending for her today after all. She groaned and fell back on the bed with a huff, already bored. She'd grown accustomed to filling her days with scrolls and ink, in between the appointed times the servants brought meals and cleaned and refilled the bathwater.

But the skills she'd honed those long years came back to her, and she emptied her mind of everything but the faintest sounds, the slightest movements. Empty time was just the calm before the storm, the space between things happening. There was no past or future, only the now, and for now she was safe.

Her ears pricked at the great doors downstairs groaning open, which they only did for the prince, or perhaps, now, whoever the temple had sent. Nervously she stood, hearing the patter of several pairs of feet ascending the stairs. The door opened and a woman with graying hair scowled at her. Behind her, two younger women stood timidly, not much older than Litheian herself.

"You look well-kept," the older woman said sourly.

Litheian said nothing, looking meekly at the floor.

"Strip her," the woman commanded, and her assistants came forward.

Litheian clenched her fists, resisting the urge to fight. The two quickly undid her underdress and threw it on the bed.

"Turn her around," the woman ordered. "Let's see what we have here."

The two younger ones complied, each taking an arm and pushing as though she were a millstone to be turned about.

"Well, well, no bruising at all," the woman murmured to herself. "He treats his little pet nicely, he does. Emani!" she called, and a young girl came forward, carrying a large cloth bundle. "Get her dressed," she said, waving toward Litheian's naked body.

She stood as still as a dressmaker's dummy as the bundle was opened to reveal fine undergarments and the dress the sempster had made. The two young women set to work dressing her, and she mutely followed their directions, stepping into long stockings, lifting her arms for the underdress. Lastly she was laced into the gown itself, and the older woman appraised her.

"Emani, the shoes!" she snapped, and the girl brought forth a second, smaller bundle to reveal a pair of slippers.

Litheian stepped into them, feeling her feet constricted after so many years going barefoot. She dared a glance around her, and the older woman stepped forward. Litheian dropped her eyes, not wanting to draw her ire.

"You've behaved yourself well so far," the matron said icily, making her shiver. "Now, you'll keep doing so if you know what's good for you. No trying to escape, unless you want to be bound and gagged." She took Litheian by the chin and clenched hard. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes," she whispered, unable to nod against the woman's grip.

"Good," she replied, releasing her and turning away, aiming for the door. "Let us depart!"

On each side of her, the young women clamped their hands about her wrists, and she was led sideways like this, out one door, then another, down the steps. What men were in the hall stood back silently, and she felt them staring hungrily. The double doors opened wide for this strange procession, and she stepped down into the courtyard.

The afternoon light shone brilliantly, just as it had that day she first met the prince months ago. But she had barely a moment to bask in its warmth before being hustled into a carriage.

Litheian sat back and exhaled, though it was difficult to relax with the two young women holding tight to her arms. She dared not look outside, but the light dimmed as they went through first the inner, then the outer gatehouse, picking up speed as they wound their way down to the city below.

After a long while, they passed through another gatehouse, then slowed to a halt. She was half-dragged out the carriage into the blue evening air. She heard gasps and murmurs all around her, watched as sandaled feet stepped back to make way.

"Emani!" called the older woman, and the girl scurried forward.

They passed one door, then another, and another until she lost count. Finally she was deposited in a small room with high walls and tiny windows. It was barely furnished, but she found a stool to sit on next to the cot and its threadbare covers. The young girl, the one called Emani, came in to serve her supper. It was plain and sparse, but she swallowed it down under the girl's watchful gaze. When she left, Litheian sighed and lay down on the rickety cot. These must be the cells for the ascetics or those being punished, she imagined. There was no pillow to speak of, so she turned her head and slept on her arms, thankful for the voluminous cloth of her gown to keep her warm against the chill.

Morning came too soon, along with another bare meal, and she was again lugged through a series of doorways. A giant tub came into view, and she was carefully undressed and bathed, her hair massaged with scented oils and braided down her back. After she was dried, a simple robe was presented to her, which she donned compliantly. Once more she was ushered about the temple complex until they came to an echo-filled room, and she was forced onto her knees.

She braved a glance about her, taking in the smooth stone walls and the polished floor. Before her rose a giant, empty-eyed statue of the goddess Hamin, her outstretched arm holding a staff of sweet-smelling wood that rested on the floor only paces away. Below this sat the matron from the day before. She took a handful of herbs from the basket at her side and cast them into the sacred flame before her.

"Though it may be useless, as you are already ruined," drawled the woman, "you are to stay here and pray until evening."

Litheian blinked, trying to remember. How did one pray to Hamin, She Who Conceived All Beings? It had been so long since she last set foot in a temple, and she had never heeded her lessons, though her stepmother was devout. Was there even a point in trying? Surely her presence alone was an offense.

"Beg forgiveness for your sins," instructed the older woman, "and praise Her boundless mercy." Her voice turned smooth as she circled Litheian, who clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. "Meditate on the Conception of Beings, and the endless love She holds for all that She birthed from Her own womb.... And if that is too difficult," she muttered, "then sit still, and by She Who Loves All, do

not

fall asleep."

Litheian ignored these last words, already at prayer, and the older woman's footsteps faded away.

Forgive me for not attending to my lessons

, she began,

and for all the years I never once turned my mind to You, for I thought myself forsaken. Forgive me for trying to end my life, which You so graciously gave me. Forgive me for being here now, and for what I must do tonight in Your name, when my body has been sullied by so many men

. She paused, for she had nothing further to confess.

Thank You

, she continued instead,

for sending me to my husband. Thank You for watching over my health, and for keeping my womb from conceiving. Please, O Mother of All, do not give me another child tonight. Stay Your hand just once more, I beg of You

.

Reaching the end of her prayer, she peeked to the left and right of her, not moving her head for fear of being watched. The great hall remained silent and empty. Was this the inner sanctum of the temple, or had they cleared it for her use alone? It didn't really matter either way, she supposed, and there was no way for her to make use of the information anyhow. The temple was a maze of buildings, and all she could recall was that it should be divided neatly in two, with one half for Hamin and the other for Her consort Yealar, the sky god who had impregnated Her.

Somewhere, she thought, on the other side of the temple, might her husband be praying before a sacred flame as well? What was he asking of the god? To perform well? She felt her cheeks turn warm in the cool air, and unbidden the memories of their night together filled her mind. Trying to brush them aside and replace them with chaste thoughts, she returned to her prayer.

Forgive me for not attending to my lessons

....

There was no sense of time in the dim hall, but her stomach tightened with hunger. She had relieved herself after breakfast but now felt the urge to do so again. She held it in, returning to her prayer again and again, until she could no longer bear it. Before she tried to stand, her legs long since grown numb beneath her, she heard footsteps approach.

"At least you haven't keeled over," muttered the matron. Strong arms on both sides of her lifted her up, and she nearly yelped as her legs buzzed with feeling again.

Supported by the young women, she hobbled through yet more doors, until she reached the tall, sparse room again. Spying the chamber pot, she sighed with relief, not caring that she was watched. Afterwards, a bowl was shoved at her, and she ate as quickly as the little wooden spoon would allow, drinking greedily the cup of water offered to her, which she held out for more. Her food eaten, she slowed her pace and looked around her.

The taller of the young women, who was standing before her, rolled her eyes. She took the empty bowl and cup, curling her lip, and left quickly. The shorter of the two spared her a pitying look before leaving with the pitcher of water.

Litheian sat back, her eyes wandering to the tiny windows at the top of the wall. She could see a sliver of dusk-colored sky, and her stomach tensed. Evening was here, and soon she would be led out before a large crowd waiting to watch the prince take her. She shuddered. As much as she had enjoyed their night together, it was a private moment for just the two of them. But this....

She hadn't the time to complete her thought, for the two young women entered once more to escort her to yet another room. It was well-lit and gleaming from all the polished metal furnishings. This was a sacred place, she felt, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was directed to a glinting low tub, her robe removed and her legs spread open. Two new women came forward bearing silvery jugs, from which they poured a murky liquid into the tub. Litheian gasped as the cool water lapped at her tender asshole.

One of the attendants snorted and muttered, "So he does use her after all." Her compatriot hissed at her, bringing a finger to her lips.

Litheian supposed they had been instructed not to speak, and shut her eyes, feeling the water rising with each pour. Soon it entered her through her open slit, and she felt the coldness seeping further inside her. Once the cloudy water reached her belly, the attendants shifted to pouring handfuls of it over the rest of her body.

She longed to know what was in it, where it was from -- a sacred spring? A well? And what had been added to it, that made it feel so smooth? But she kept silent, standing as she was pulled up and onto the floor, patted down with silky cloths.

The matron came into view again, carrying a small bottle. "Spread your legs, girl," she ordered, but Litheian hesitated. "This is sacred oil," the woman huffed. "You must be anointed with it before the ritual."

Reluctantly she widened her stance, wincing as the woman blotted the cold oil on her inner thighs, her nipples, and both sides of her neck.

"These are the three sacred places of a woman's body," the matron explained, whether to herself or the other women, Litheian wasn't sure. "They are where Yealar touched Hamin before gifting Her with His seed. This is where he will touch you before doing so as well."

Done with her ministrations, she sniffed and corked the bottle. Litheian put her feet together again, feeling suddenly vulnerable in front of this woman whose identity she did not know. She was surely a priestess, a high-ranking one most likely. Was she one of the Eleven, the high priests and priestesses that ruled the temples of Celandron?

"Now," she said sharply, pitching Litheian back to reality. "You will exit this room to a corridor leading outside. There you will disrobe and lie down upon the altar. When he approaches you, he will say 'The sky is swollen with clouds,' and you will respond, 'And the earth has need of rain.' Do you understand?"

Litheian nodded. They were the same lines the gods had uttered to each other before coupling.

"Good," the woman replied brusquely.

She felt the robe at her back and held out her arms for it to be wrapped around her once more. The belt was tied in a half-bow and the attendants all stepped back, waiting for her to walk through the door.

Heart beating fast, she pushed against it gently and it gave way easily. She could hear them following her, hear the murmuring of the crowd ahead. Fingers of fiery light flickered down the long corridor, reaching for her bare feet, her legs, her stomach, her chest, her face.

She was standing at the end of the open hallway, facing the great marble altar and beyond that the seething, murmurating crowd. Four tall braziers stood at each corner of the altar, so the people beyond were shrouded in darkness, but she could hear them. They were watching, waiting to see her be fucked. She held back, not wanting to do this, not wanting to be watched.

She felt a push at her back, a tug at her belt, which undid easily. They were pulling off her robe, forcing her forward one step at a time into the pool of light.

The crowd saw her and roared, snippets of their cries reaching her ears. "O beautiful goddess --" "-- help me bear fruit --" "-- my fields!"

Numbly she stepped forward, reaching the altar and climbing atop the great slab that had been covered in a thick fur. She lay there, heart buzzing in her ears, and reminded her body to breathe. In and out. In and out.

The crowd roared again, cheering and calling out Yealar's name. Her husband must have arrived. Pushing down her fear, she watched him come into view above her.

"The sky is swollen with clouds!" he called loudly, and the crowd rumbled.